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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27980055">Not the Usual Suspects</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyMeetingYouHere/pseuds/FancyMeetingYouHere'>FancyMeetingYouHere</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>GOT7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU - College, AU - vampires and werewolves, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Mark is not your typical vampire, Protective Jackson, Vampire Mark, Werewolf Jackson, awkward boys, bamf Jackson?, but mostly humor and weird, compared to the rest he definitely is, humor-ish, mentions blood but nothing graphic, some elements of angst, they skip a step cause they're Markson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:48:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,740</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27980055</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyMeetingYouHere/pseuds/FancyMeetingYouHere</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>As far as Jackson is concerned, vampires are the stuck-up cousins who are the slightly inept though self-proclaimed 'prodigal sons' at family-dinners.</p><p>So, of course, he gets one as a roommate.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mark Tuan/Jackson Wang</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>121</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Not the Usual Suspects</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm just gonna leave this here for anyone else who thinks Vampire Mark and Werewolf Jackson are an underappreciated form of art and also possibilities for hilariousness. Please enjoy and let me know what you think if you can!!</p><p>Are you ready?? </p><p>*distant shouting* born ready born ready!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It is a well-known fact in the packs that vampires are Bad News. They're stuck-up, self-righteous and obsessed with that 'purity of blood' bullshit that's threatening their entire existence. For this reason, werewolves and vampires decided long ago to stay out of each other's way, not including the occasional isolated scuffle, if only to keep the eye-rolls and lectures to a minimum. As far as Jackson is concerned, and his entire pack, vampires are the stuck-up cousins who are the slightly inept though self-proclaimed 'prodigal sons' at family-dinners. Needless to say, Jackson agrees with the decision to simply stay out of their snobbish ways. As if the nearly ritualistic blood-drinking isn't enough, they get all prissy about sufficient sleeping quarters (coffins) and their claim to have more opportunities in the night-time sector despite the whole sun-scorching thing being as much of a myth as the idea werewolves struggle with control when they shift. If anything, they struggle to shift at all, often times resulting in nothing but a few canines and one wolf-ear and a bunch of laughing relatives.</p><p>There are pictures which Jackson wishes he could burn.</p><p>All in all, the two communities have left well enough alone, doing their own thing and hiding from the massive human population and in general being on okay terms with the other, relatively much smaller supernatural communities. Vampires, werewolves and warlocks are the only ones who have spread worldwide, the rest sticking to their country or continent and content to simply let them be. </p><p>Really, it's all much calmer than the movies make it out to be.</p><p>There is, however, the matter of college, and now that Jackson's eighteen he can finally have a taste of whatever it is that makes others so pumped up about it. He has a slip with his assigned dorm in hand, said a somewhat choked-up goodbye to his parents, and feels the thrill in his veins as he sniffs all the different scents in the building. Some of it is mold and dirt, but most hums with the scent of excitement that permeates the air. He's already had four people wave him a happy hello despite having no idea who they are, and the spring in his step bounds him all the way to the fifth floor even with a leaden backpack and even heavier suitcase.</p><p>He bursts into the room with a grin and a joyous 'hi!' as he spots the shocked boy crouched by the refrigerator. His roommate regards him with wide eyes and a pale face, something close to suspicion in his expression as he blinks mutedly. Jackson decides to grin even more. "I'm your roommate!" He holds up his suitcase before setting the heavy bastard down, as if that'll prove everything. The boy still hasn't moved. It's only now Jackson spots the juicepackets in his hands, the ones he'd been stacking into the fridge, and can't help his raised eyebrow as he sees how many there are.</p><p>"Dude," he giggles, "you must live off that stuff or something."</p><p>The other steadily gains colored cheeks, eyes flitting from the juice packets in his hands to the ones in the fridge and back to Jackson.</p><p>"That's not me judging!" Jackson quickly adds, taking a quick whiff to see if they have a similar taste. "I'm a sucker for peach-"</p><p>The scent in his nose is not peach, nor any other fruit. It's not even a vegetable or something stupidly sweet. It's iron. Jackson's jaw drops as the boy's cheeks go completely maroon, one hand nervously fiddling with the corner of one of the packets. He looks hilariously busted.</p><p>And that's how Jackson realizes his college experience is doomed from the start, because his roommate is a bloody vampire.</p><p>Fan-fucking-tastic.</p><p> </p><p>x</p><p> </p><p>Mark Tuan, as Jackson later learns, is the absolute worst roommate in existence ... for a full two days.</p><p>They have seperate bedrooms, thank the stars, though everything else is shared. It means Jackson spends a depressing amount of time holed up in his room which he could have spent getting cosy with his roommate if his roommate wasn't an evil bloodsucker. Which, in all honesty, is a shared sentiment if Mark's utter silence has been any indication. All of this only adds to the peculiarity of a knock rousing Jackson from a show he'd decided to binge watch. He frowns at the door, almost deciding he heard that wrong, until the two tiny knocks sound again. With question marks no doubt swimming above his head he puts his laptop and headphones on his mattress and scoots off to open the door. Even though he knows it can't be anyone else, he still raises both eyebrows at seeing Mark.</p><p>The other shuffles in place, practically drowning in a black hoodie and loose sweatpants. Jackson continues to stare at him and Mark shrinks a little. Then he clears his throat.</p><p>"There's a spider in my room," he says in a low tone, mostly staring at the floor and only peeking at Jackson at the end of the sentence. If Jackson didn't know any better, he'd say the vamp was looking pleadingly.</p><p>He cocks his head. "Okay? Did you come to tell me that?"</p><p>If this is the level of interaction vampires normally indulge in, no wonder there was that cold war between their communities some four hundred years ago. It's only been a few seconds and Jackson already wants to throw the door in Mark's face. Funnily enough, his words make the other look something close to <em>stricken.</em></p><p>"Well, yeah, but-" Mark flaps his large sleeves, red creeping onto his cheeks as he glances at Jackson again and resolutely focuses on his chest. He hauls in a deep breath, then confesses. "I'm scared of spiders."</p><p>For a while, Jackson doesn't speak. He's convinced this is a joke but confused about the sudden sense of humor, as horrible as it may be. Eventually, he blinks again. "I'm sorry?" he ventures. Mark grimaces in response, then his eyes go hopeful and he peers up despite being the same length or possibly even taller. Jackson has never known a vamp to appear <em>small.</em></p><p>"Are you afraid of spiders?" Mark questions in a tone that borders on desperate.</p><p>Jackson opens and closes his mouth, breathing out a negative with confusion lathered on the word.</p><p>Mark either ignores it, or simply doesn't care. His shoulders sag in relief and he points at his door over his shoulder. "Do you think you could get the spider out of my room?"</p><p>"I-" Jackson tries to find the catch, tries to come up with reasons to finally close his door and go back to his show, but Mark is shuffling in his large hoodie while biting his lip and looking painfully hopeful because he's a vampire who's afraid of spiders. "Yes?" Jackson tries out.</p><p>He receives a sudden smile that almost makes him flinch, a set of perfect teeth, and two suspiciously long upper canines, beaming at him in gratitude. Which is how Jackson finds himself removing a tiny spider the size of his pinky nail from Mark's wall, biting his lip to hide his laugh at the ridiculousness of a vampire cowering behind him and giving half-hearted pointers about how to get the terrifying arachnid outside. Alive. Because Mark pales when Jackson makes to kill it, hand shooting out and voice high in distress.</p><p>"It's a tiny, living creature!" Mark argues heatedly, flinching in proximity to said creature.</p><p>"You're terrified of it," Jackson points out, perhaps a bit bluntly, and Mark crosses his arms with a pout.</p><p>"Well, that's not its fault."</p><p>Jackson gives him a look to convey how crazy that sounds. "Right."</p><p>He ends up placing the spider outside with Mark breathing over his shoulder, too scared to get closer but also wanting to make sure he 'gets there alright'. Jackson doesn't know if he should be offended or laughing. He decides on the latter.</p><p>Mark only pouts more.</p><p> </p><p>x</p><p> </p><p>About a week later, Jackson has a choice to make. It's not an easy one, nor one he ever thought he'd be presented with, but recent events have led him to this fork in his life's path and he's standing right at the top. Left lies the realization that vampires are a bunch of lying shits who've been erecting a reputation of fearsomeness and power to hide their laughable ineptitude and terrified nature, and on the right is the option that Mark Tuan is simply the worst vampire in existence, and, in a bizarre twist of fate, quickly becoming Jackson's not-enemy.</p><p>Because honestly, it's nigh on impossible to look at a boy with fluffy black hair and wearing a very pink hoodie, curled up on their shared couch while sipping quietly from his juice packet and think of him as dangerous, let alone <em>frightening</em>. He holds the damn juice packet with both hands, like a toddler. Even the faint scent of blood coming from the packet isn't enough to label Mark as anything but adorable. Jackson, to his growing horror, has been staring at Mark from the other side of the couch for a full minute now, completely ignoring the show he put on. Mark finally glances at him, eyes wide and questioning.</p><p>"Does the smell bother you?" he mumbles.</p><p>That's another thing Jackson can't get his head around. Mark Tuan is <em>nice.</em> He genuinely asks whether Jackson can't take this or is bothered by that, and all the sincerity is driving Jackson mad. Where is the asshole with a penchant for casual murder that he was promised!</p><p>"Yes," he blurts out, more to see what Mark will do than any truth behind it. The older bites his lip, then unfolds from the couch and pads into their tiny kitchen. He places the juice packet back in the fridge, even though Jackson knows it isn't empty yet, and Mark silently walks back and folds himself into the couch again. He looks at Jackson with big eyes.</p><p>"Better?"</p><p>Jackson nods, then decides to shake his head. "It smells horrible every time I open the fridge," he pushes, curious.</p><p>"Oh," Mark frowns. "I hadn't thought of that." He sinks into the cushions, defeated, and Jackson holds a tiny victory dance in his head which translates to a smirk as he focuses back on his show. Hah. Mark is an annoying vampire with annoying blood packets disguised as juice packets and there's nothing the older can do about that.</p><p>Four days later, Jackson yanks open the fridge for an early-evening snack, only to blink at a sudden lack of randomly colored packets or the heady scent of iron. He almost wonders if Mark moved out overnight until said vamp shuffles into the kitchen in another giant sweater, this one bright green, and a bundle of laundry in his arms. He shoots a proud grin at Jackson. "I put a fridge in my room so my stuff isn't all over," he remarks almost joyfully. "I'll eat in there too so it doesn't bother you." With a satisfied nod he slips into their tiny washroom. All Jackson can do is stare in stupefied anger at the empty fridge, hating Mark for the sole reason the boy isn't giving him any reasons to hate him for, like any self-respecting vampire should<em>.</em> Especially when the next day, Jackson, while frantically stuffing his gear in a duffle because he almost forgot fencing practice <em>again,</em> finds a small stack of folded clothes on the couch, accompanied by a note.</p><p>
  <em>Thought you might need these today.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Good luck!</em>
</p><p>Jackson opens and closes his mouth as if Mark is physically present to be yelled at, then shoves his clothes into his duffle with a sour taste in his mouth.</p><p>Living with a vampire was supposed to be his own personal nightmare, not some sort of domestic comedy. Mark, it seems, never did get that memo.</p><p> </p><p>x</p><p> </p><p>Jackson <em>does not </em>tell his parents his life has become some sort of parody on every piece of folklore about their kind <em>ever</em>, and instead avoids the topic of his roommate apart from an offhanded mention about his name. He keeps them sufficiently distracted with tales about his classes and a small pack of werewolves he's found on campus who throw the most insane parties every month. He's been invited to the next one and Yugyeom pouts predictably at the notion his big brother will be going out while he is 'still stuck at home'. </p><p>"Can't I come over?" the sixteen-year-old whines and Jackson hides his panic with a high chuckle.</p><p>"You gotta focus on school!" Jackson tells him. "Then you'll have your own parties to go to in two years."</p><p>Yugyeom still grumbles but lets the matter rest. Crisis averted.</p><p>College is weird enough without his pack knowing he has Mark the Friendly Vamp occasionally washing his training gear and leaving the peppers out of his stews because he realized Jackson is a sucker for any kind of food and will always stick his finger in to taste. Needless to say, the first time was an unpleasant experience which left both of them emotionally scarred.</p><p>In any case, Jackson pulls out all the stops to keep this insanity confined to their dorm room, but it once again seems like Mark has a very different agenda, or possibly none at all. Because when Jackson comes home from a grueling practice on Tuesday, thoughts on nothing but a hot shower and dinner, he freezes right after he opens the door. There's a tiny boy standing in the middle of the living room, a shock of pink in his bangs, and eyes the size of saucers when they spot Jackson.</p><p>Or, as Jackson realizes when the door falls shut behind him and he carefully sniffs the air, there's a tiny vampire in his dorm who's staring at a werewolf easily twice his size. Logically, the tiny vampire screams.</p><p>"Mark! Your werewolf's here!"</p><p>Which is not the scream of fear Jackson was expecting and his jaw drops even as Mark practically flies out of his room, two juice packets in his hands which he quickly hides behind his back, and proceeds to glare at the tiny vamp. Jackson drops his duffle on the floor, mind whirling. He quirks an eyebrow at Mark. "<em>Your</em> werewolf?" It drips with disdain as the phrase hit all the wrong buttons and Mark shuffles nervously in place.</p><p>"I'm sorry," he offers, painfully sincere. Then his eyes shoot to the tiny grinning vamp and his voice goes cold enough a shiver runs down Jackson's spine. "My brother has the manners of a snail."</p><p>Said brother looks inordinately pleased about that. "I'm Bambam!" he chirps, stepping up with a hand held out and a twinkle in his eyes. "Actually I'm Kunpimook Bhuwakul, but everyone just calls me Bambam."</p><p>Jackson can't help but blink at the outstretched hand, as if expecting it to start attacking.</p><p>Mark sighs, loudly. "His name <em>is </em>Bambam and he's my younger brother." He gives Jackson an apologetic stare. "My parents just dropped him off without warning. I'm sorry."</p><p>The boy still has his hand out and finally, with extreme caution, Jackson shakes it once. Funnily enough, Bambam's hand is almost as warm as Jackson's, and definitely just as warm as most humans'. He goes momentarily confused about that as Bambam skips back to his brother and snatches a juice packet from behind Mark's back.</p><p>"Sweet!" Bambam goes to open it, and for whatever reason Mark's eyes go wide and he pounces on his brother.</p><p>"No!" He yells, shoving the small boy into his room in a single move. An annoyed sound follows but Mark ignores it, stepping backwards into his room and giving Jackson a small wave. "We'll just- stay in here." He smiles again, shuffles like he doesn't know what to do with his arms and legs, then gives a quick bow. "Sorry."</p><p>The door slams shut on muffled giggles and a shout that sounds like 'you fucker!', but after everything that just transpired, Jackson isn't sure of anything anymore. He stays frozen for much too long, listening to the soft sound of talking and one burst of high-pitched laughter coming from Mark's room until he shivers in his sweat-soaked clothes and finally remembers that shower he wanted to do before he was interrupted by a tiny vampire. A tiny vampire who is Mark's brother. Because vampires have families too.</p><p>Somewhere along the way, Jackson just sort of ... <em>forgot</em> about that. </p><p> </p><p>x</p><p> </p><p>"Shit!" Jackson shouts as pain laces through his foot. He staggers and just catches himself on the kitchen counter, already glaring balefully at the red spots on their white tiles. He huffs out a breath when he's stable, holding his right, throbbing foot in the air as he leans on the counter and re-evaluates his options. He thought he could simply step over the shattered glass he dropped just a few seconds ago, their kitchen being tiny enough that he's forced to do so in order to get to the cleaning supplies, except his bare feet have just painfully proved him wrong. Irritated, he blows at his bangs, making a mental note to cut them soon. Then he glares at the glass again. Great. Now he only has one working foot.</p><p>His musings about the intricate mechanics of somehow balancing on the counter with only one foot and two hands, and using the fridge as leverage are interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. Before Jackson can even realize he's still standing with one foot in the air, small drops of blood darkening the tiles, Mark is already around the corner. He's humming to himself with a smile, headphones still in, but freezes while still staring at the ground. First Jackson thinks he has excellent perceptive vision, then he groans in his thoughts because Mark's wide eyes fly to the puddle of blood on the floor. He's still as a statue as he stares at it.</p><p>Double great. Now Jackson has a possibly rabid vampire on his hands. The more the seconds tick by, the paler Mark gets as his eyes keep staring at the floor. The first trickle of concern comes in and Jackson swallows. Exactly <em>how</em> rabid is his tiny roommate going to be because of a small puddle of blood? There's no way college insurance will cover 'destroyed by hungry vamp' when it comes to their kitchen. Jackson clears his throat, trying to get Mark's attention. The other still isn't moving.</p><p>"Hey?" He waves one hand. "Mark? Uhm you- .. you okay?"</p><p>As if in slow motion, Mark takes a deep breath, chest moving even as he refrains from blinking. "You're bleeding," he whispers, face definitely much paler than when he walked in. Is that bad? For someone with a vampire roomie, Jackson curses past him for never finding out how strong this whole feeding-urge actually is. Werewolves are built sturdy, as many a doors from Jackson's childhood can attest, but he doesn't want to find out if he can hold up against whatever Mark has planned. Perhaps not consciously, but the stories are terrifying.</p><p>When nothing more happens, Jackson licks his lips. "Hey dude. You look like you're-" he cuts off, trying to find a nicer way to put it then 'about to kill me', only Mark finally seems to come out of whatever trance he was in. With a shudder, and as if it physically pains him, he closes his eyes. Now that Jackson's looking, he can see sweat on Mark's face. Oh shit. His alarm translates to a high voice. </p><p>"Maybe you should lea-" he starts, only to let out a very non-werewolf scream when Mark suddenly folds in on himself. The guy goes down like his strings were cut, knees collapsing and head smacking hard against the wooden floor. Then he stays down.</p><p>Jackson holds his breath. Is this some form of transformation for vamps? Except that it looked a lot more like fainting than any murderous desire for blood. At this point his leg is getting tired and the damn drops have created a bigger puddle, not that it's in any way nearing dangerous, not to mention the now possibly unconscious vampire some four steps away. If this were a tv-show, someone would have probably edited in an 'awkward silence'. Not that real life is any less awkward, especially since Jackson still has no clue how to traverse the booby-trap his clumsy ass created without completely ruining his feet. He slowly lowers his right until only the heel is resting on the floor, hissing when it pulls on the cut in the middle of his sole, then turns a frown on the problem he's faced with. Literally.</p><p>"Hey," he says in a bout of pure brilliance, projecting the sound at the downed form of his roommate. He purses his lips when nothing happens, shooting his eyes around the small living room adjacent to their kitchen-corner. As expected, no solution jumps out at him and he blows his bangs again, foot now throbbing in beat with his heart. He shifts a little and leans forward, as if the added proximity will rouse Mark. "Hey!"</p><p>Insanely enough, it works.</p><p>Holding his breath, and with one hand on their drawer which Jackson <em>knows </em>holds a knife, he watches as Mark's face scrunches up with a groan as the other rolls himself onto his back. One floppy hand comes up to poke at what will no doubt be a brilliant bump and Mark hisses, then mumbles under his breath. "Stupid faint response..."</p><p>Which leaves Jackson with more questions than he knows what to do with, his wolf hearing picking up the words which humans would have missed, but first things first.</p><p>"Mark?" he hesitates, then receives a grunt in response as Mark massages his temples. "D'you think you could get the broom? Or like, my shoes?"</p><p>He receives a soft 'yeah', either from embarrassment or lingering whatever it was that made Mark conk out. If he wasn't so scared the vampire might try him out for a chew-toy any second, Jackson may have laughed at the sight of Mark gingerly sitting up with his eyes closed and using his hands to crawl blindly to their tiny entrance which, probably more to the point, is out of sight from the kitchen. Though, Jackson supposes, it won't do much for the smell.</p><p>"You can just leave them in reach!" He yells as an afterthought, craning his head nervously but only seeing Mark's feet. "Maybe go take a breath of fresh air or something!"</p><p>As an answer Mark's feet disappear, only for his full form to lean against the corner with a pair of beat-up sneakers in hand which are definitely <em>not</em> Jackson's. Mark is still pale, lips pressed into a white line, and he opens his eyes for less than a second before closing them again, audibly gulping.</p><p>Jackson gulps too, throat dry and nerves soaring. "Seriously dude. You don't look too hot."</p><p>Mark does something that might be a grin. "Here," he says, voice hoarse, and proceeds to throw the shoes at Jackson <em>with his eyes closed</em>. One confused noise and a mad scramble involving wind-milling arms later, and Jackson is holding shoes that do not belong to him.</p><p>"But these aren't-"</p><p>Mark huffs, eyes still closed and leaning fully against the wall. "You'll get blood in your shoes. I was going to throw those out anyway."</p><p>"Right," he agrees, more out of fear for the possible lethalness of his roommate than any true desire to dirty <em>any</em> pair of shoes. It takes some awkward hopping a pained squeal before he's finally standing on the other side of the obstacle-course, leaning heavily on his left foot and grimacing at the feeling of pressure on his cut. He gives Mark a cautious glance.</p><p>"You can leave now," he hovers a hand near Mark's elbow, wondering if maybe he should guide the other to the door that's only two steps away. When he gets a small shake of a head, he immediately retracts it.</p><p>Mark flops a hand at the opposite wall. "Can you take care of your foot in your room?" He asks with a tremble in his voice, as if he's scared Jackson will go into full protest and shove the wound in Mark's face just for the heck of it.</p><p>"Sure!" Jackson agrees much too quickly, eyeing the drying patch of blood on the floor. "But uh ..."</p><p>Mark <em>whimpers,</em> which is almost as terrifying as if it had been an <em>actual</em> terrifying sound. "I'll take care of this," he breathes, holding the wall with white knuckled hands, eyes still closed. "Please, Jackson?"</p><p>At that point he decides their kitchen isn't worth dying for and if Mark is going to destroy anything in his rage, it won't be Jackson's face. Or foot. "Sure thing," he almost pats the other on the shoulder and hastily snatches his hand back, then hobbles into his room with only a last look at Mark doing something close to breathing exercises near the wall. He closes the door between them and wishes it was made of steel. </p><p>It only takes him a few minutes to take care of his foot, applying disinfectant and bandages he keeps in his room for the normal scrapes, then covering it all with a soft sock just for the heck of it. He mourns Mark's shoes for a minute, peering at the thin line of red in the grey sole, before sighing and placing them near his door to be either thrown out or given back. During all of it, not a single sound comes from the kitchen, from demolishment or otherwise, and Jackson can't say he isn't suspicious. Even leaning his ear against the door reveals nothing, though using some wolf-hearing gets him the soft swish of the broom and a careful tinkle of glass.</p><p>It seems Mark is, in fact, cleaning.</p><p>Maybe removing the source of food from the immediate vicinity takes care of the worst of the hunger? Their existence is hardly an exact science, though not for lack of trying by many a scientist who were quickly discouraged from entertaining such practices by the sudden and permanent removal of their head from the rest of their body. It's an older remedy, but an effective one. It does mean Jackson is horribly lost on <em>how long</em> he's supposed to stay hidden, or if hiding is even doing much and Mark simply has impeccable control. He decides to investigate when it's been quiet for at least a full minute, no broom and no glass to be heard, and Mark's bedroom door also hasn't been touched.</p><p>The answer to that last bit becomes clear when Jackson sticks his head out the door and promptly screams into the startled face of Mark who had been leaning close from the other side. Jackson slams the door shut, heart thundering. "What are you doing!?" he yells, bracing the door against any and all attacks.</p><p>"I was just checking!" Mark shouts, sounding highly confused and low-key apologetic.</p><p>"For what!?" Jackson counters. "Whether I was ripe for snacking!"</p><p>The silence that follows stretches a little too long for Jackson to comfortably hold onto his anger, meaning he's suddenly left with a sinking feeling of regret in his stomach as he replays his last words. It's not like Mark had been leaping at him from the hallway, or even tried to force his way in. He swallows, focusing on the present sting in his foot so he doesn't have to deal with the conflicting thoughts in his head. "Mark?" He ventures, trying for calm and hopefully landing near neutral. "Are you okay?" Which is honestly the nicest way he can think of to ask whether his roommate has developed a rather sudden craving for werewolf.</p><p>With his ear to the door, Jackson catches the put upon sigh from the other side. Mark sounds a little petulant as he speaks. "I'm not gonna eat you, you know. That wasn't- I mean, back there, I wasn't-" He groans, falling silent. Jackson frowns at the stuttering and decides he should probably be braver than hiding behind a door when speaking to, not his arch-nemesis, but not technically his pal either. With a shaking hand, he cracks the door open just enough so he can peer out with one eye. Mark stands looking lost in his giant clothes, one socked toe poking at a bump in the wood as his hands pluck incessantly at his sleeves. His expression looks defeated.</p><p>Jackson somehow feels annoyed at that and decides to counter it. "Why not?" he shoots out, jumping in place when Mark's head snaps up and he beams that ridiculously radiant smile.</p><p>"Hey," he rushes in clear enthusiasm, then shakes his head. "The blood thing, that's not going to make me go loopy." He twirls a finger next to his head in the universal sign of nuttier than a peanut, then grins. "I just wanted to ask if you were okay."</p><p>Jackson still doesn't open the door, examining the smiling eyes for any hint of deceit. "Right," he eventually manages. "So you passing out and looking seconds away from losing it wasn't-" he makes the gesture himself, though Mark can't see because of the door, "-loopy."</p><p>Mark at least has the decency to purse his lips and shuffle in place, a steady red creeping into his cheeks. "Oh, that," he says lightly, scratching the back of his neck. "So, uh-" his eyes shoot up and there's a plea in them. "Can you keep a secret?"</p><p>Not where he expected this to go, though not the worst thing Mark could've said, and Jackson nods firmly as he eyes the other. Whatever secrets the vampire world has, he'll extract them all and find some way to live with this nuisance that has doomed his entire college experience. No one else has to deal with their roommate's murder temper-tantrums.</p><p>For whatever reason, but most likely due to Jackson's superb acting skills and Mark's no doubt naïve personality, the boy gives him a small grin, then hauls in a breath like one does before divulging the secret passage to Mount Doom to avoid all those pesky orcs. Without realizing, Jackson opens the door a little wider to lean in.</p><p>"I fainted 'cause vampires can't stand the sight of blood," Mark rushes out in one go, ears joining his cheeks in looking like a tomato. He's once again grimacing at the floor, looking like he'd much rather be anywhere but here, but also shooting these tiny, hopeful glances Jackson's way like his admission won't completely blow up in his face. Which ... wow. How is Jackson supposed to believe <em>that.</em></p><p>"You drink blood," he blurts out incredulously, opening the door a bit more so he can show the full disbelief on his face. "Dude you <em>literally</em> used to suck it <em>out of people</em>. How on earth can you be serious right now! There's no way such a crippling design flaw could even exist without the whole world knowing about it!"</p><p>Mark pales, holding up his hands and making tiny 'be quiet' motions. "They don't!" He hisses, eyes flitting around like the rest of humanity is currently taking up residence in their vents, then leans in close with pleading eyes and his sweaterpaws up in a begging motion. "Jackson, <em>please</em>, no one knows this. I mean, there's a reason we drink shit from tiny packets and hate going to a hospital! It's got nothing to do with that whole hunger-spiel, that shit's made-up." He pleads even more, mouth turning into a pout. "Don't tell anyone?"</p><p>Which is when it occurs to Jackson that his ridiculous roommate is being one-hundred percent serious, and even the worst vampire in the world wouldn't make up such a preposterous lie if only for the fear someone might actually spread it and ruin their reputation. Which, as it stands, is apparently <em>complete fucking bullshit.</em></p><p>"You've gotta be kidding me," Jackson eventually answers in a dead tone. He lets the door swing all the way open, leaning against the doorframe and gaping at the embarrassed shuffling in front of him. Mark shrugs.</p><p>"Is not <em>that </em>strange," he mumbles, plucking at his sleeves and staring at his hands.</p><p>Jackson snorts. "It is," he assures. "It's the strangest thing I've heard in my life." He frowns at Mark, pointing an accusatory finger. "If this is true, why isn't every vampire always falling all over the place? I mean, I stand by what I said. You guys would bite people in yee-olden days. How did that not become obvious at some point?"</p><p>Here Mark becomes the reddest he's been so far, voice reduced to nothing but a mumble and posture that of a toddler confessing to breaking the Ming-dynasty vase. "Not all of us have it that bad. Most just...get really dizzy. And, well ... there's a reason we used to go out at night because, well, it's the sight that gets us, you know." His eyes shoot up, then down again. "If we can't see it, the problem sort of goes away."</p><p>And suddenly, after what can only be described as centuries of harmful bickering and pissing in each other's gardens, the lightbulb goes on so hard over Jackson's head he feels dizzy himself. "Wait a second," he croaks out, staggering in place with the sudden realization. "All those stories about you guys being dangerous and blood-thirsty and killing everything in sight when faced with blood, those were all just concocted to hide you fucking <em>faint at the sight of it!"</em></p><p>Mark looks painfully uncomfortable, shuffling in place and head bobbing in a silent agreement as he keeps checking their apartment for hidden eavesdroppers. Jackson doesn't see any of it.</p><p>"Oh my fucking god!" He laughs, high and unbelieving as he finally takes a good look at the vampire in front of him. "You guys are so fucking crippled!"</p><p>Mark winces. Right. Probably a touchy subject. With effort, Jackson reels in his elation, only for it all to fade to annoyance when he realizes.</p><p>"So, wait. Werewolves really <em>are</em> the strongest side of this stupid feud?!" He gives Mark the stink-eye. How many times has he had to listen to the 'be careful of strangers and strange vampires' speech when he was young? And they're just a bunch of dainty fainters who can't handle the sight of their own food-supply!</p><p>"Well," Mark draws out the word, grinning through his blush. "Not really." In a move too fast to follow, Mark's nose is suddenly touching Jackson's, his black eyes devouring him. "We're still pretty fast."</p><p>With a very manly 'eep', Jackson jumps back and slams the door in Mark's face, standing frozen right after. Then he lets out a breathless laugh, and another, and another. Before he knows it he's holding his stomach and toppling onto his bed, muffling his chuckles in his pillow as the ludicrousness of Mark's entire existence finally makes it into his brain.</p><p>Because Mark is a vampire who faints at the sight of blood.</p><p>Which, pardon the pun, is bloody brilliant.</p><p> </p><p>x</p><p> </p><p>"Teen Wolf?"</p><p>"Entertaining but way off."</p><p>"...Vampire Diaries?"</p><p>"Entertaining but horrible."</p><p>"Twilight?"</p><p>"Stupid and horrible."</p><p>Mark chuckles. "Yeah, true enough."</p><p>"Though," Jackson admits from where he's lounging on the couch, snacking on popcorn and head pillowed on Mark's surprisingly comfortable thigh while the other flicks aimlessly through channels. "They all got sorta close with the whole warmth thing."</p><p>Mark looks down at him, quirking an eyebrow in genuine confusion. "Warmth?"</p><p>"Yeah, you know," Jackson twirls a hand at himself, then at Mark, then grabs another helping of popcorn. "Body-heat," he crunches around a mouthful, intentionally making a sultry face.</p><p>Mark giggles, poking Jackson's shoulder with his free hand. "Maybe for you, but I am <em>not </em>a popsicle," he complains with a smile, still looking down and TV forgotten in the background.</p><p>Jackson grins up at him. "Compared to me, everyone's a popsicle."</p><p>Mark's expression sobers up, honest curiosity taking over. "Is that a problem with cold weather? Or cold in general?" </p><p>A month ago Jackson would have lobbed a brick at Mark's head, but learning the biggest cover-up in Vampire history has done the impossible job of bringing them closer until they're doing movie-nights at their dorm and idly discussing integral parts of their being on any-old Tuesday evening. Jackson shrugs, grabbing more popcorn. "Not really," he confesses, munching thoughtfully. "It's only a problem if we stop eating. We just run warmer than humans and vamps and basically every other being, but that's literally just how we work. I mean, you're just the temperature you are, right?" He cocks an eyebrow as Mark looks contemplative. "My body handles the thermostat on its own, I just have to give it fuel. Like everyone else. I mean," he squirms a little, biting his lip before confessing. "We need more than others. Food, that is. If we would follow a human's diet we'd get sick like, <em>all</em> the time." He shrugs, popping more popcorn into his mouth. "We need more food than humans, just like you need different food. Not really that different."</p><p>Here Mark nods, seemingly satisfied, and goes back to flipping through the channels. Not for the first time Jackson finds himself looking at his roommate and frowning at the conflicting thoughts in his head. This is supposedly a creature who is the water to his fire and yet here they are, sharing popcorn. Laughing. Watching movies. And every time Jackson divulges something of himself (his nose is really sensitive, even for a werewolf, he can't take spices, he's forgetful as shit, he likes company) Mark suddenly shifts their workings in such a way as to accommodate for it. He wonders if this will somehow be addressed as well before deciding not to dwell on it. It's not like he's telling all this because he likes the little things Mark does for him, like remind him about upcoming fencing meets or deadlines, and randomly knocking on his door to chat or ask him to taste a new recipe he's not too sure about. Not at all.</p><p>Jackson snuggles some more into the couch, eyes wandering over to the TV as he carefully breathes in the calming, earthly scent of Mark mixed with floral laundry detergent.</p><p> </p><p>x</p><p> </p><p>Jackson does not miss Mark.</p><p>He did not walk aimlessly through their apartment last night waiting for the other to come back so he could not-so-casually suggest a Friday movie-night, only to sulkily munch popcorn by himself in front of a black tv-screen when Mark apparently decided to go home for the weekend without telling Jackson of his plans. No sir. Jackson simply wonders about the correct decorum in roommate communication when one is apparently going away for the weekend. That's all. He is most certainly <em>not</em> lounging on their couch and staring at the ceiling while he knows he should get started on that assignment for Wednesday but can't find the energy because Mark's usual soft teasing is absent from his day. That would be pathetic and sad and a number of other synonyms because Jackson is perfectly capable of starting his schoolwork without a personal cheerleader yelling him suggestions about his paper's structure through their open doors.</p><p>Which is why the decision to call Yugyeom and waste three hours of his day listening to his younger bother prattle on about high school and teachers and their parents is a conscious decision to check up on his family instead of an unconscious attempt to forget Mark isn't there.</p><p>Same goes for ordering in food because Mark isn't there to cook him anything. Or eating on his bed because Mark isn't there to chat with on the couch. Or foregoing his usual morning run on Sunday because Mark isn't there to go with him. Or actually starting on his assignment in the hopes time will go faster and Mark will just <em>come back.</em></p><p>He most definitely does not jump into the air when there's a knock on their front door, or open it with a dopey grin that fades when he sees short, blond hair and green eyes which translates to a deflated feeling of <em>not Mark.</em> It's Aaron. A werewolf from the second year who he's seen around a few times, always with his small pack of friends. The other grins at him, craning his head over Jackson's shoulder. "Is Mark here yet?"</p><p>Jackson's mood sours for no reason and he crosses his arms. "No."</p><p>Aaron bites his lip, then cracks another grin. "Mind if I come in? I <em>really</em> need this book I gave him but he's at his parent's house and said he might he back later today. It's just- I need it <em>now." </em>His face goes stressed. "I have a deadline and I do <em>not</em> want to fail." He gives puppy eyes which honestly do nothing because Jackson invented the concept and Yugyeom perfected it, but Jackson lets him in with a short nod of his head. Not because he's lonely due to not-missing Mark, but because he's a nice guy who does things like this. Just because. No hidden motives.</p><p>Aaron thanks him and shoots into Mark's room, emerging a minute later with his bag hitched high on his shoulder. "Found it!" he yells triumphantly, bee-lining for the door.</p><p>"Do you need anything else?" Jackson asks for no reason other than he's <em>bored</em>, and Aaron even gives him a knowing smile. "Sorry," he excuses himself. "I really need to get this assignment done and sent. Next time? You're coming to the party tomorrow, right?"</p><p>Jackson nods, mood sour, then sends off a profusely thankful Aaron with a fake smile and wave. By the time he closes the door, he's sulking. He knows he's sulking and hates it because there's no reason for him to be sulking in the first place. Except that Aaron apparently knows when Mark will be back and Jackson does not, because Aaron was much less of a dick to Mark in the first place and actually asked for his phone number. Granted, this might have something to do with Aaron not knowing his kind, book-lending friend is in fact a vampire, but Jackson almost feels like he should be <em>more </em>important than any other old werewolf precisely because Jackson <em>does </em>know. And yet, despite their movie nights and confessions, neither of them has gotten around to exchanging those stupid nine digits.</p><p>He does not miss Mark, he just feels they need to set appropriate boundaries about coming and going. And the announcement thereof. That's all.</p><p><em>Not</em> sulking.</p><p>He goes back to his assignment simply to have it finished ahead of time for once, not because the dorm is much too quiet without Mark wandering around and doing laundry, or randomly shouting threats as he plays online games with his high school friends. To avoid yesterday's dilemma, he grabs the planned left-over food and eats it without tasting as he hammers out the details in his essay, correcting typos and MLA mistakes until it feels like his eyes might start bleeding. With a full belly and cramped muscles from sitting still for so long, he finally closes his laptop at around nine, stretching in his seat and hearing multiple pops in his spine. Maybe he should-</p><p>The front door opens.</p><p>Jackson jumps up with a giant grin, already tasting the hello on his tongue, before he stops himself dead in front of his door and does a mental berate. It's just his annoying roomie. There's no reason to be this excited because Jackson <em>did not </em>miss Mark. Right. With a firm nod to himself, he tries again. Calm and collected, because he's just grabbing a late snack after finishing a brutal 4,000 word paper in two days, Jackson shuffles into their shared space with a small wave at Mark taking his shoes off by the door.</p><p>"Hey," he greets casually.</p><p>He stops. Blinking to ensure he's seeing it correct, Jackson turns fully toward Mark and promptly loses any and all trains of thoughts he might have had, the ensuing collision of all of them making him stumble over both his words and his feet.</p><p>"Mark! What the- how did you even- why-"</p><p>He stops just out of hands' reach of the other, finally creating eye-contact when Mark looks up from struggling with his shoes. The only word Jackson has to describe him is gaunt, or possibly dead. Though he's fairly sure the whole undead thing for vampires is another wild assumption by the general public, the parchment-like skin and bruised eyes don't rule it out. In all honesty, Jackson is afraid to touch him. Mark's lips are cracked to the point of bleeding, his clothes filthy and hanging off him even more than usual. His fingers tremble even when his hands are still, hints of half-healed wounds around his knuckles and around his nails. Jackson is afraid to see anything else, not that he can, but his imagination is much too vivid for situations such as these.</p><p>Mark wobbles in place, one shoe off and the other stubbornly on his foot, and leans his entire weight against the wall at his back as if his legs are destined to give out any moment. It takes multiple seconds before a flicker of recognition sparks on his face and he rasps out a single word.</p><p>"...help."</p><p>Which seems pretty fucking obvious, but with <em>what!</em></p><p>"How!" Jackson yells at him, limbs flying to emphasize his words and rid himself of agitation when Mark blinks like he's been put in slow-motion. The other lets out a breath and it sounds painful. One of Mark's arms goes up maybe a third of the way before flopping down, and suddenly the other is sliding down the wall, eyes rolling in his head and eyelids fluttering.</p><p>"No!" Jackson springs into action. When he catches Mark and slowly sits him down against the wall, the popsicle talk from last week comes to mind because Mark honestly feels like he came out of a freezer. It may be winter but it's not <em>that</em> cold outside. Is it? "Mark, what's wrong!" He shakes bony shoulders, Mark's head lolling as the other clearly struggles to stay conscious. Fear burns in Jackson's belly and he curses every past version of himself for not knowing what the fuck is happening. It's a vampire thing, has to be. "Mark!" he taps freezing cheeks, forcing the other's eyes to focus on him. With quite some difficulty, Mark does.</p><p>Jackson swallows a boatload of questions, instead focusing on the one that might create a solution to Mark's terrifying stint as a wannabe-corpse. "What do you need?" It's half a demand. "Dude, what do I do!"</p><p>Mark glares at him, or Jackson guesses at least, it's a bit hard to see past the sweaty, pasty white skin and rattling breaths. Mark's cracked lips part and he chokes out a word Jackson <em>really </em>should have figured out by himself.</p><p>"Blood."</p><p>Jackson doesn't ask how this happened, how he got this bad between here and the train station, he simply jumps up and runs into Mark's room, slips on the wooden floor with a yell and slams hip first into the tiny fridge Mark dragged in there for only one purpose. Rubbing said stinging hip, Jackson yanks the fridge open with a bunch of profanities bubbling on his tongue. None of them make it out as he stares in utter stupefaction at the empty space that should hold Mark's blood-stash. Jackson closes the fridge, then opens it again, as if maybe it's one of those party tricks where it's there one second and gone the next. Still nothing. He flails his hand around inside, even does a quick search around Mark's room to make sure there's no other fridge hiding under a pile of clothes. Unfortunately, that is not the case. Just to be <em>utterly</em> sure, Jackson slips back out again and sticks his head in the kitchen's fridge. His own half-eaten meals attack his nose, but no iron scent or brightly colored juice packets.</p><p>Where the <em>fuck</em> is Mark's blood?!</p><p>His mind whirls as he walks back to Mark, only to stop dead when he spots the other slouched sideways on the floor, back against the wall and eyes closed. He looks seconds away from complete organ failure or disintegrating into dust or whatever it is that happens to vampires when they miss their scheduled feeding time. His skin is so pale it actually makes his hair look darker, veins popping up around his eyes and on his forehead. Desperate slapping of the cheeks does not work this time, nor does very loud yelling or random threats. Which only leaves contacting some other vamp to ask about whatever strange affliction this is, which is somewhat hampered by the fact Jackson only really knows one vampire, this being the one that's currently wasting away, or...</p><p>The thought is initially dismissed as soon as he thinks of it, a healthy amount of disgust attached to it, but then he looks at Mark again, feels the sickly cold cheeks in his hands and something snaps in his head.</p><p>Mark is not not-enemy. Mark is not arch-nemesis. Mark is not roommate. Mark is friend.</p><p>
  <em>Mark is pack.</em>
</p><p>And there isn't a whole lot Jackson wouldn't do for pack.</p><p>Within an alarmingly short amount of time, he has the lights off, a knife in his hand, and a single desperate thought bouncing in his head.</p><p>
  <em>Please, don't suck me dry.</em>
</p><p>That would be horribly ironic in this last-ditch attempt to save a vampire. Dying, that is. In the dark, he can only see an outline of Mark and has to guess a little about where his face is. With some trial and error, he finds it and kneels in front. Then he puts the knife on the inside of his arm and braces himself with a last screaming thought of <em>fuck this is gonna hurt!</em> Then he presses down firmly. </p><p>He screams.</p><p>Honestly, he'd like to see someone with functional nerve-endings <em>not</em> scream when they push a piece of metal into their arm. "Fuck!" he hisses when retracting it is almost just as painful. He can immediately feel the warm flow of blood on his arm, the appendage shaking as he locates Mark's mouth and takes a deep breath. "Fuck, this better work."</p><p>Without another thought to possibly talk himself out of this, whatever this is, he shoves his bleeding wound into Mark's slack mouth, feels teeth hitting the edges and waits with another hiss. Nothing much happens. It occurs to him that anyone who would walk in now would consider this some sort of satanic cult where they feed each other their blood and he giggles, heart pounding in his head and arm throbbing. "Come on, man," he breathes desperately. "Don't leave me hanging."</p><p>The joke elicits more inappropriate laughter as he's literally bleeding into Mark's mouth. Just when he thinks this was a doomed plan from the start, there's a strange sucking sensation on his arm. He groans when his wound feels like it tears more, then screams a second time as teeth clamp onto already destroyed skin. So, those canines weren't just pretty things.</p><p>"Fuck!" He tapers off into a groan, holding his demolished left arm with his right and hoping the lightheadedness is just from the pain and not from sudden and serious blood loss. Just as quickly as it started, the sensation stops and Jackson's arm is released. He falls back on his ass, cradling the appendage close to his chest and squinting into the dark. A blob moves in front of him, heavy breathing proof that Mark is definitely alive. Jackson feels like laughing. Considering the weird high he's on, he decides to do it.</p><p>"It worked," he whispers in wonder, letting out a somewhat hysterical giggle. A shiver runs down his spine as he stares at where he <em>thinks </em>Mark's head is. "Holy shit, you didn't kill me."</p><p>"Jackson?" Mark sounds painfully confused. "What the ... why is it dark? ...I smell blood on you. Why is there blood on you?"</p><p>Jackson giggles again, arm hurting and brain a little fuzzy with a mixture of relief and however much blood he just lost. "Holy shit," he whispers again.</p><p>A hand smacks into his face and he yelps, then settles on glaring at the direction the appendage came from. "Hey!"</p><p>"Sorry," Mark says immediately. His hand finds Jackson's shoulder. "It's way too dark in here. Are you hurt?"</p><p>"Are you okay?" Jackson ignores him. "How are you feeling?"</p><p>"Jackson." The first hint of annoyance creeps into Mark's voice. "What's going on? Why are the lights off? And why do I smell blood on you!" Then Mark mutters, too low for humans to pick up. "...screw this..." and Jackson's muddled thoughts take too long to make the connection when Mark stands up and steps to the side.</p><p>Light floods the room and Jackson squints at it at the same time he yells. "Mark, don't!"</p><p>"Jackson!" Mark's scream is high and panicked and followed by the room once again plunging into darkness. "Oh my goodness," Mark breathes, sounding like he may be hyperventilating and definitely freaking out. "Oh my goodness, Jackson, your arm! It's bleeding! Why!?"</p><p>Jackson sighs, a headache beginning at the back of his head. "Well-"</p><p>But Mark cuts him off with a groan. "Jackson, no! When I said blood, I meant <em>mine!</em> As in, from the fridge! I didn't- I would never, I mean <em>why</em> would I ever-!"</p><p>"That's missing," Jackson explains with a sigh, feeling somewhat neglected for the amount of effort he put into saving Mark's life. He pouts even though he knows the other can't see. "Didn't you need blood like <em>really</em> badly?"</p><p>It's silent for a bit, somewhat strained breathing coming from the shadow standing next to the wall. "Well, yeah," Mark starts hesitantly. "What do you mean <em>missing?"</em></p><p>"I don't know," Jackson snarks, rolling his eyes. "I'm not your personal blood-tracker. Look, now that imminent death is off the table, do you mind closing your eyes or something so I can get this mess cleaned up?" He meant for it to be a genuine question, but it comes out more tired than anything. Then again, his wound is still bleeding and he needs all of that good stuff to stay <em>inside</em> his body. It only now occurs to him that he may need to get stitches. Fuck it all.</p><p>A sudden hand lands on his head, much more gentle than the last time. "Wait," Mark says in a soft voice. He's much closer, possibly kneeling in front of him. "Where's your wound?"</p><p>Jackson can't help a sudden bout of suspicion and he frowns at the shadow in front of him. With effort and a practiced blink, he finally turns on his wolf eyes so he can see what Mark's doing. As it stands, the other is staring about a foot next to Jackson's face, his hands slowly going down Jackson's arms to find the injury. Startled, Mark blinks, now looking straight at Jackson. "...wow," he breathes. The veins in his skin are gone, a healthy sheen back to his face though he still looks immeasurably tired. He's staring straight at Jackson's eyes. "They're yellow," he wonders aloud.</p><p>"Uhuh," Jackson grunts, somewhat over the marvel of semi-luminescent eyes after his little brother lovingly dubbed them mustard-eyes. He frowns deeper at Mark, eyes flicking down to Mark's ever inquisitive hands. "What are you do- ow!" He flinches when Mark hits the edge of the wound, trying to pull his arms back only to have Mark stubbornly hang on.</p><p>"Wait!" Mark yells more forcefully, then takes a deep breath. "There's something else you don't know about vampires."</p><p>Before Jackson can concur that there's probably a whole lot he doesn't know, starting with, but not limited to, the notion of simply sneaking off without letting your roommate know when you'll be back and then showing up with one foot in your proverbial coffin and your emergency blood-stash sadly empty, Mark moves. With his wolf eyes, Jackson can almost follow. Mark's hand goes up to his face, then comes back down directly on top of Jackson's wound and squeezes. Jackson <em>howls</em>.</p><p>"What the hell!" he yells, trying to pry the hand off with a shiver of pain. "Dude, that burns, let go!"</p><p>When Mark does, after Jackson comes close to biting his hand off, the burn slowly seeps away. In fact, all the pain seeps away. Jackson frowns. That's <em>weird.</em> He examines his arm more closely, experimentally wiping at the bloodstain until he realizes there's no more wound to speak off. It healed. Mark-</p><p>He snaps his head up, disbelief no doubt splashed all over his face though it takes him a moment to realize Mark can't see that. "Dude," he whispers. "How did you do that?"</p><p>Mark shrugs. He looks relieved but also like he's wrestling with something. "The whole healing really fast because we drink blood thing isn't just useful for us." He holds up his right hand, showing the almost healed bitemark inside that's smeared with blood. The implication steamrolls over Jackson and he's not sure whether to be grateful or a little bit nauseous. In the end he decides on both.</p><p>"Your blood heals?" he questions with a dry throat.</p><p>With another shrug, Mark nods. He purses his lips. "But uh, that's another thing others don't know. So maybe ... don't tell?" He does the painfully hopeful look again that Jackson can't say he dislikes. The glow in his chest would say something else entirely but that's maybe a bit much for now.</p><p>"No prob," he promises, head reeling with the enormity of that secret but mostly just happy Mark is up and talking and <em>didn't</em> kill him. "Mum's the word and all that." His grin is for naught when Mark just keeps staring at what for him must be a black blob. Jackson snorts. "How did you ever convince <em>anyone</em> you would hunt at night? You can't see shit."</p><p>With a guilty grin, Mark scratches his neck. "Well, the not seeing bit is pretty much the whole point."</p><p>"Uhuh," Jackson glances at his bloodied arm and Mark's hand, not even mentioning the mess on Mark's chin and cheeks. "So how exactly are you going to do anything now without passing out like, three times?"</p><p>That receives him a puzzled look. "I just step into the shower and don't come out for half an hour."</p><p>"And how are you getting there?" Jackson grins.</p><p>Mark pouts. "What? You're just going to let me walk into walls? Your eyes <em>glow!"</em></p><p>Jackson blinks and goes back to human vision, hearing the betrayed gasp and almost wishing he could see the face that accompanies it. "Jackson, come on!"</p><p>(He only lets him walk into two walls, then he helps out. As a thank you, Mark lets Jackson wash up first.)</p><p> </p><p>x</p><p> </p><p>The mystery of the missing blood is a conundrum that really only holds one answer. It's not one Jackson likes, or even one he tells Mark. But since the other isn't in the business of letting his food-supply run out, and because he's also being utterly tight-lipped about what got him in that horrifying state in the first place, Jackson takes it upon himself to solve the riddle and hopefully be very wrong about it.</p><p>He doesn't have to search for long the next day during lunch hours on campus to find the blond-haired, green-eyed werewolf that's honestly his only suspect. Aaron was the only one in Mark's room all weekend, though how he was even supposed to know about the blood is quite the wrench in Jackson's deduction as Aaron has no <em>clue </em>that Mark is a vampire. If he had, he would <em>not </em>have been so friendly about lending a book. Which is probably why Jackson is wrong about this. Most likely.</p><p>The weather is on the cold side, but Aaron and his friends confiscated a table near the entrance of the library in the little courtyard between the main buildings. Their laughter is loud though ignored by most passers-by. Being only a first year and at least a year younger than most, Jackson has to psych himself up a bit before he can step up to the five werewolves with a smile and a confident. "Hey guys!"</p><p>Micah is the first to turn around and smile back, Yoon-ho following right after. They all greet Jackson with handshakes and claps on the back, Jeffrey and Bank giving him mute nods while Aaron goes all in with the hug as if they're besties. So far, so good. Just when he wonders how exactly he's going to phrase this, or even bring up 'hey did you need a stash of blood and raid my roommate's fridge?', Aaron gives Jackson a hard clap on the back and announces to the group with a grin.</p><p>"Jackson here deserves a celebratory drink, boys!"</p><p>More laughter and an overdone 'here, here' from Micah later, and Jackson is more confused than he's ever been and holding a cup filled with something sweet and definitely alcoholic. He blinks at it, then at the grinning faces around him. "But I don't-" he starts to explain he has absolutely no clue what they're talking about, only to have Aaron bring the cup to his lips with a chuckle. "Initiation into the pack, dude. Just drink up."</p><p>Pack sounds good. Pack <em>feels </em>good after being away from home and warm bodies curled up next to him for so long. It's not like the alcohol will even affect him what with their metabolisms burning through it faster than he can say 'drunk'. Besides, if they see him as pack they'll be more inclined to answer a few stupid questions they probably don't know anything about anyway. With a quick movement of his head, Jackson throws it back in one go. It stings on his tongue and invades his senses, eyes watering until it's all down and he lets out a slow breath. Aaron grins at him. </p><p>"Good stuff, huh?"</p><p>Being robbed of his words for just a moment, Jackson nods, giving the cup back. The drink sits warm in his belly before dissipating and he grins.</p><p>"Just like my dad would make them."</p><p>He receives a round of chuckles, Bank putting the bottle with their own mix back into his bag. The boy still doesn't speak but gives him an approving nod. Jackson immediately feels stronger.</p><p>
  <em>Pack.</em>
</p><p>"You're still coming tonight, right?" Micah interrupts his mental floating with a high voice that still surprises Jackson. It's just not what you'd expect from a guy with a full beard and a set of shoulders clearly built by some sort of overachieving Greek sculpturer. The question throws him and Jackson blinks, trying to steer the conversation to why he walked up in the first place. </p><p>"Uh, yeah sure, but I was actually wondering about that book you borrowed from Mark?" He speaks to mostly Aaron, getting a dumbfounded expression before the boy dissolves into hard laughter. He slaps Yoon-ho on his back hard enough the other grimaces, then winks at Jackson as if they're sharing an inside joke. Which they're not. Jackson suddenly fears for the mental capacity of this pack, despite them all being students. "Right," he starts, trying to find simpler words to explain what he thought was already as easy as could be, only to be interrupted <em>again</em> by Micah jumping up and letting out such a loud gasp of triumph that it must mean he's found the problem to world hunger.</p><p>Micah stands on the bench, looking down at them all with a grin wide enough his eyes go nearly invisible, and holds up a hand that might be seen as an action to quiet them down had they not already been mostly silent. Jackson is now <em>really</em> worried about their mental capacities. "I have a plan," Micah announces with all the grandeur of a politician running for president. He turns to stare directly at Jackson, a knowing smile on his face. "We should invite Mark to our party tonight!" Though it becomes clear from the intense focus that when he says 'we', he means Jackson. The others fall into a stunned silence, which is not unexpected since these parties are somewhat exclusively <em>pack</em>, whether human or werewolf, and Mark does not fall into either of those categories. Though, for the wolves currently surrounding him he's just 'outsider', not 'eternally hated enemy'. For some reason, the thought alone brings a foul taste to Jackson's tongue.</p><p>"But he's-" he tries.</p><p>Micah grins down at him. "He's your roomie! We should give him a proper welcome, no?"</p><p>Recognition is popping up around them, Bank getting it first and Yoon-ho last, and all of them carry the same grin that's mostly fun but also a little ...<em>not.</em> Jackson gulps at the last bit. "Not really?" He answers more like a question than anything else, mostly unsure why these guys would care about a random roommate unless ... Jackson freezes, his own thoughts from yesterday flooding back and draining all the heat from his face.</p><p>
  <em>Unless they think he's pack.</em>
</p><p>Because Jackson had most certainly thought that yesterday, and perhaps he'd been unconsciously marking his roommate before that. He blames being away from home for so long when the wolves around him burst out into even louder laughter upon seeing what Jackson does not doubt is the face of someone who just realized they're being coupled to a guy who drank his blood no less than twenty-four hours ago. Though he must admit, the thought doesn't feel anywhere near as foul as it should. If anything, it feels almost ... pleasant? He hides the stupid grin on his face which he knows is multiple shades of red. Micah jumps down from his perch and throws a friendly arm around his shoulders.</p><p>"Think you can do that?" He teases, shaking Jackson as the others snigger. "Think you can invite your roomie to our little get-together?" He puts such an emphasis on roomie that Jackson's ears burn all over again, not even sure he wants to vehemently deny any and all accusations or dig a deep hole and hide. The fact that he even has to think about that probably says enough. He groans, hanging his head.</p><p>"How long have you known?" he mumbles because apparently he's a masochist and wants to know just how long he's been stupidly flaunting his scent everywhere. Then a truly terrifying thought enters his head. Does Mark know?</p><p>Micah snorts. "We've known for a while."</p><p>Jackson peeks up at Aaron, seeing a unanimous nod from all of them, and asks in a small voice, just to be absolutely sure. "So, the book ..."</p><p>Aaron winks, tapping his nose with a finger and then pointing at Jackson. "Now you're getting it."</p><p>They leave not too long after, waving goodbye and laughing as they shout different versions of 'can't wait for tonight!' as Jackson watches them go and feels a very nauseous combination of full and confused. He is no closer to figuring out Mark's missing vampire juice, but the mystery takes a seat on the back-burner as he ponders this newest conundrum. Is he seriously marking his roommate as <em>pack?</em> How the hell did he not notice! As far as he knows, the only way to not notice is when-</p><p>His thoughts fade, the world muting as he grows very small in his bubble and a few weeks of vehement denial crash down on him. The most notable being how much time a day he spends either with Mark, or thinking about him. Like now. Like right now and just now and this morning and basically his entire weekend unless you count the hours he slept.</p><p>...though he did dream about Mark a few nights ago-</p><p>He slams his eyes shut, resisting the urge to scream, but then all he sees is a familiar sloped nose and laughing eyes underneath either a snapback, a hoodie, or plain black hair.</p><p>Which is when Jackson knows, without a doubt, that his college experience is doomed.</p><p>Because Jackson Wang, a werewolf, has a very major crush on Mark Tuan, a vampire.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>Fuck.</p><p> </p><p>x</p><p> </p><p>"Hey Mark!" Jackson throws fingerguns at his reflection, brown hair neatly styled and his normal baggy wear exchanged for a nice pair of jeans and a t-shirt/sweater combo. "Wanna go party with me?"</p><p>He imagines the mirror to crack and crumble from the cheesiness of that action and drops his arms, blowing out a big breath. He closes his eyes, cracking his neck and jumping in place as if getting ready for some sort of wrestling match. "You can do this," he mumbles under his breath. "You got this. You can do this." He opens his eyes again and scrutinizes the third outfit of the evening. He's no longer sure if he truly hates all of his clothes or is using this as some form of procrastination considering the next step of his plan involves walking up to Mark's room and asking him out. To a party. Which in all honesty could be seen as a completely normal bro-moment of asking your friend out on a fun night, but could just as easily flip to being a date.</p><p>Jackson stares hard at his reflection, the word rolling around his head as he lets out a shaky breath. </p><p>
  <em>Date </em>
</p><p>He groans, hanging his head, and whines to the floor. "I can't do this."</p><p>"Can't do what?"</p><p>Jackson does not scream, but he does let out a high sound of surprise, nor does he fling himself into a half-spin. He simply moves very fast so that he can see Mark leaning against the doorpost, one hand in the pocket of his baggy sweats and the other messing around with his freshly washed hair, moving strands this way and that to get them out of his face. For an insane moment Jackson wants to walk up and do it for him. Mark blinks at him when there's no response.</p><p>"Jackson?"</p><p>"I have a party for you!" Jackson blurts out to a stunned Mark. Immediately backtracking, Jackson busily waves his hands through the air as his cheeks progress to being warm. "I mean, an invitation! To a party! Tonight. If you want." He snaps his mouth shut about ten seconds too late, cheeks steadily working their way to hot as he watches Mark digest the scramble of words with a painfully cute pursing of his lips.</p><p>"Party?" He repeats, questioningly. "But I thought tonight was the, uh-" Mark tapers off, gaze snapping to the floor. It takes a full three seconds of awkward silence before Jackson realizes that Mark knows he's inviting him to the biggest <em>werewolf</em> bash this university knows and he thinks he might really want that hole to hide in now. He'd been naively hopeful the other wouldn't know.</p><p>"Right," he croaks, imagining his resolve crumbling like a sugar cube in tea. "Sure, yeah. No, I get it."</p><p>Mark peers at him through his bangs which always sneak out from behind his ears. "It's not like- I mean- they probably don't want me there."</p><p>"They do!" Jackson counters much too eagerly. He stuffs his hands in his pockets to keep them from flailing about like a pair of demented chickens and rocks on his heels. "Just, they don't mind."</p><p>Mark looks exceedingly unbelieving about that.</p><p>"They don't," Jackson repeats, more to keep from blurting out anything else utterly mortifying like how good Mark looks with wet hair. Jackson has a thing for black hair, okay.</p><p>Mark still doesn't look any closer to believing him, but he does adopt a thoughtful expression. "Why would you want <em>me</em> to come?"</p><p>Ah. If Jackson's cheeks weren't hot before, they are now. Logic takes a backseat and cackles with popcorn in its hand as Jackson tries valiantly to keep his rapidly fleeing wits from disappearing altogether. This is precisely what he'd been practicing before, the simple 'friends do fun things' speech that will save him years of mortification.</p><p>Obviously, none of it happens.</p><p>"It's a date."</p><p>The words fall in between them, heavy as a house of bricks, and Jackson might honestly throw up. He curses his thoughts, his mouth and his utter inability to think on the spot as he watches Mark freeze so completely he's quite possibly no longer breathing. Horror washes over him. "The party," he stutters, "just, you and me- I-"</p><p>Oh dear lord, what is coming out of his mouth!? Something like a broken speaker croaks out of his vocal chords in an attempt to say three things at the same time, but suddenly Mark is <em>giggling.</em> The other hides his face behind red sweaterpaws, shoulders shaking and body jumping in place until Mark lets out a very loud, very <em>high</em> squeal.</p><p>Needless to say, Jackson swallows the accidental frog in his throat and stares without any upstairs activity.</p><p>After frantic mumbling from behind the sweaterpaws that Jackson cannot catch because of a persistent heartbeat in his ears, Mark finally unearths his face, his <em>beaming smile, </em>and gives a series of very fast nods.</p><p>Jackson still doesn't get it.</p><p>"..."</p><p>Mark throws his arms in the air, smile splitting his face as he yells like he's trying to talk over a dozen screaming voices. "Yes! I want to go on a date with you!"</p><p>And then they're both very red and very awkward and Jackson feels like maybe he should say something funny about Mark resembling his sweater but he honestly can't think past the 'Mark wants to go on a date with me' that's sending his stomach into butterfly mode. They lock eyes and Mark only lasts a second before he's hiding behind his hands again.</p><p>"When are you leaving?" He rushes out mumbled, still not looking at him.</p><p>Jackson shakes his head, then nods, then realizes this requires vocal communication and clears his rusty throat. "Ten minutes?"</p><p>Mark's head snaps up, eyes wide and disbelieving. "What!" he screams, then practically apparates out of the doorway. Frantic curses and muffled thumping come from his room and Jackson can't move for a full minute before a giant grin takes over and he does a silent victory whoop at the ceiling.</p><p>That totally went exactly like he had planned.</p><p> </p><p>x</p><p> </p><p>"It's kinda loud," is Mark's first, yelled, comment about the highly anticipated party. Jackson can't even disagree with him.</p><p>It's in a smaller building on campus, one of the older lecture halls with even flooring that can seat around one-hundred students max and is often 'borrowed' by certain student groups or houses to throw semi-legal parties that aren't broken up by the police on account of noise complaints. Somehow, Jackson had expected a bit <em>more </em>than the bare building, a single table at the side with a staggering amount of different alcoholic drinks clearly brought by the regulars, multiple randomly colored light sticks scattered across the floor to give it that house-party vibe, and five speakers spread out to blast someone's pop-oriented music taste at the give-or-take fifty people present.</p><p>A certain grandeur is missing and Jackson's heart sinks to his shoes at the idea this is their first date. He's just about to suggest going outside or <em>somewhere else</em> when a warm hand lands on his shoulder and Micah's high voice rings out behind him. "Jacky! You made it."</p><p>He groans, turning with a fake smile and glancing longingly at the exit they just came in through. Too late.</p><p>"Boys!" Micah yells over his shoulder. "Look who showed up!"</p><p>Jackson rolls his eyes at him, shrugging the hand off his shoulder. "Yes, haha, very funny." He sends Micah a look to <em>zip it</em> about the whole scenting thing. He'll choose his own time to tell Mark about that mortifying little snafoo. Preferably never. Micah only winks at him which does nothing for Jackson's confidence in the other keeping his mouth shut. As an afterthought, Jackson blindly gropes next to him and finds Mark's hand to give it a little squeeze. No doubt the other is feeling a little overwhelmed with the sudden attention of five werewolves. Unfortunately, as he knows from back home, pack doesn't really work with time. If you're in, you're in and everything is fair game, especially the embarrassing childhood stories and teasing about crushes. From the way Aaron and Yoon-ho are grinning, Jackson's about to be subjected to the latter.</p><p>Ugh. Why did he come here again? Oh right. Because Mark actually fucking <em>agreed.</em></p><p>Jackson chances a glance to the side and notices that Mark is focused on the floor, his free hand plucking at the white dress-shirt he'd thrown on. Jackson will never understand how Mark took only ten minutes to look like he belongs on a run-way instead of his usual skater-boy inspired attire, but he's not complaining. He tugs on their joined hands, heart jolting belatedly as he realizes he's <em>holding his hand.</em> The thought makes him grin. "Mark? These are some friends of mine, though I guess you already know Aaron." He shoots a quick look at said werewolf to confirm and receives a conspirative wink. Odd. Jackson brushes it off, wanting to get introductions over with so he can take Mark outside to one of the benches he spotted when they came in. This music is horrible for holding a conversation. "And these are Micah, Yoon-"</p><p>"Dude," Aaron interrupts him, grin widening. "He knows."</p><p>That's ...surprising. "Oh," Jackson looks back at Mark, the other still inspecting everyone's shoes but with suspiciously redder ears. Even in the low light, Jackson can see his uncomfortable expression. "So, you all know each other?"</p><p>Micah appears behind Mark, throwing a much too friendly arm around him and Jackson goes jealous for long enough he can feel a growl form in his throat. Then Micah laughs. "You could say that," he says in a teasing voice, eyeing Mark. "Don't we, vampie?"</p><p>Several things happen all at once. Aaron and Yoon-ho wave their arms and shout to someone off to the side, Micah grabs a fierce hold of Mark's arms, effectively ripping Mark's hand out of Jackson's hold, and Jackson chokes on a sudden and undeniable urge to vomit when he catches the stricken look on Mark's face and the strangely sadistic one on Aaron's. </p><p>
  <em>They know he's a vampire.</em>
</p><p>The music cuts off. Some confused shouts float through the air until Aaron hollers loud enough even the people outside can hear. "Everyone! Attention please! We have a guest of honor tonight!" He grins at Mark, but there's more to it. There's something mean and upsetting in his face that has Jackson's stomach shrinking as he's hit by so many realizations he can't even keep up.</p><p>Aaron doesn't give him time to breathe. "For your entertainment!" He yells as if he's announcing a circus act, drawing more and more people to pack into the tight circle surrounding them. "And to release some of that pre-exams frustration! We have a little vampire in our midst!"</p><p>The mood freezes and Jackson does too. He can't take his eyes off Aaron, the betrayal slicing deep until he remembers this isn't about him. Not even close. He's almost too scared to look, too terrified to find Mark's hate-filled eyes as he slowly drags his eyes to his roommate. What he finds is even worse. Mark stands motionless, head down and shoulders up, not even trying to look scary or intimidating. He doesn't look angry, not even spiteful. All Jackson sees in that moment is a very scared boy, the same boy who fetched Jackson's shoes despite fainting all over the place and the same boy who wouldn't let Jackson kill a tiny spider on account of it not being its fault others are scared of it. All he sees when he looks at Mark is that damn, tiny spider.</p><p>The crowd erupts into cheers and laughter, everyone's eyes turned to this hunched over, scared boy, and Jackson suddenly knows the real reason they asked him to invite Mark, the real reason Aaron came to their dorm that day, and fears he may also have found the perpetrators for Mark's brush with death.</p><p>Aaron laughs at the spectators, drunk on the jeers and curses. Micah keeps Mark in place.</p><p>"Who first!" Aaron grins at the audience. "Higher bids will get more time but I promise, you'll all get your turn! These fuckers will heal from just about anything!"</p><p>Jackson feels sick.</p><p>"...wait," he croaks as the first figure of ten bucks is shouted out, followed by about a dozen more. Mark still isn't moving, his eyes now closed as he trembles in Micah's fierce grip. No one has heard Jackson, let alone Aaron. The chaos swells with voices shouting through each other, people wrestling to the fore-front to be the first as Yoon-ho and Bank control an actual <em>line</em> of contestants.</p><p>Jackson explodes. "Fucking, <em>shut up!"</em></p><p>Those nearby fall silent and Aaron turns to him more out of a reaction to the sudden change in noise more than any desire, blinking at Jackson like he forgot he was there. "Oh," he says airily, "do you want to go first?"</p><p>A guy in the audience yells a complaint which sets off another cackle of voices all demanding their go, but Jackson is so done with this stupid pack-mentality that he doesn't even realize he just cussed out most of his own existence in his head and a single shiver runs down his arms, anger pooling in his stomach. "No."</p><p>Aaron goes confused. "Well then-"</p><p>"No one is gonna go first," Jackson clarifies, shooting little glances at Mark and getting more alarmed when there's just <em>nothing.</em> Oh heavens. His resolve hardens. "I think we'll leave now."</p><p><em>That</em> gets them all to shut up. Aaron and Micah stare at him like he declared the moon is technically lilac colored while Bank gives him a very fierce frown. Aaron raises his eyebrows. "I'm sorry, but that sounded like you're actually <em>protecting</em> this bloodbag." He hooks a finger at Mark, as if the horrible designation wasn't enough of a clue.</p><p>Jackson decides to make them understand at their level. He also raises his eyebrows. "Oh I'm sorry, but it sounded like you were actually all plotting murder which is, you know, <em>illegal."</em></p><p>Aaron's face does something complicated, then he chuckles tensely. "Dude, seriously-"</p><p>Jackson copies him again, making his laugh extra demented. "Dude, <em>seriously."</em></p><p>They all just stare until Micah comments bewildered. "But he's a <em>vampire!?"</em></p><p>"I hadn't noticed," Jackson answers dry, just about done with their stupidity. His first concern about their mental capacities should have been his first clue if not a giant red flag as he can't shake that tiny spider from his mind every time he looks at Mark's bowed head and trembling hands. He glowers at Aaron and Micah who seem to be the head-honchos of this brainless mob and sneers. "Your options are simple. Either you let us walk out of here, or you all succumb to the most <em>stupid</em> idea you've ever had and attack. And I promise you," he growls at the surrounding faces who seem to be seriously contemplating option number two, "that you will have to go through me to get to him and that you <em>will</em> start another pack war in doing so." His eyes go back to Aaron at a sudden thought. "Actually, come at me. That way I can see my mom tear you to pieces."</p><p>It shuts them all up, maybe more out of their genuine confusion about a werewolf standing up for a vampire than anything else but Jackson will take whatever he can get. As cool as he pretends to be, there are still about fifty werewolves all around which is about forty-seven too many for Jackson to have any chance of getting out of this. But, as it stands, he may get his preferred odds when a sudden non-human growl rumbles from Aaron's chest. The boy's eyes flick to neon green, which is just <em>unfair </em>as that color is much better than mustard-eyes, and Aaron raises a hand that slowly morphs into the beginnings of a claw.</p><p>And this would be where most fights disintegrate into snarls and yelps as everyone attempts to get their full nails out fast enough to do some annoying damage on the other person's face and/or torso. Because, lets face it, if vampires feverishly hide their little fainting secret, then the wolf community is equally as tight-lipped about their exceptionally long learning-curve when it comes to transforming. Most werewolves don't get the hang of it until they're well into their twenties as Aaron's three shifted nails are currently demonstrating. He's not bothering with anything else and Jackson suspects it might have something to do with the fact he'll look even more laughably inept when he tries to grow fangs and only manifests a single canine.</p><p>Which is how Jackson realizes he has the upper hand on probably all of the gathered wolves here. Because Jackson, under the watchful eye of his mother, pushed himself to his limits ever since he managed to pop a single claw on his left hand at the age of four. In other words, Jackson can do the following.</p><p>He quirks an eyebrow at the semi-shifted hand in a baseless show of bravado, because that's honestly what like <em>half</em> of this is all about. Then he grins at Aaron's stupidly confident face. "That's cute."</p><p>It takes a lot of effort to do what he's about to, but the tiny spider keeps ghosting at the back of his mind and Mark hasn't looked up once this entire time meaning Jackson's out of options and also can't give a damn. A horrible combination, really, but not one he has the luxury of questioning at the current moment. He closes his eyes and breathes, focusing on his hands first, going from thumb to pinky, then bringing it up to feel the strain and prick in his jaw and finally going for the famous mustard-eyes. He's not going full wolf in his clothes, been there, done that. It's not the epic mess of tearing out of your pants they always show on TV, more a very crippled wolf limping about trying to manage buttons without having opposable thumbs. Not the show of power he's going for.</p><p>Luckily, as he opens his eyes and lets his own growl rumble from deep within his chest, he doesn't have to. It's very rare for anyone under twenty to have any semblance of success with creating full claws on one hand, let alone both, and grinning with a full set of perfectly formed and painfully pointy teeth usually doesn't happen until mid-twenties. Needless to say, Aaron's bravado shits itself and runs off crying about unfair expectations. The boy in question goes perfectly pale, two guys behind him even taking a polite step back, as if fine with giving the others more space to fight because they suddenly realized they were never one for throwing fists around in the first place.</p><p>Jackson speaks past his teeth, which is a feat in and of itself, making sure to keep them at full display. "Like I said, we'll be leaving now. Unless anyone has any objections, in which case I'll deal with those personally."</p><p>Like every other pumped up jock screaming out of his ass, Aaron suddenly can't find his voice and very carefully lowers his somewhat sad excuse for a claw. As expected, this kicks in the other side of brainless pack-mentality and, after a very firm glare from Jackson, the ones blocking the exit manage to shuffle aside in such a way as if to make it seem they'd been thinking of doing that all along. With the same effort as before, Jackson carefully pulls in all the pointy bits, though he keeps his eyes up just to make sure no one gets any funny ideas. It's not as hard to maintain as the rest.</p><p>Then comes the hard part. "Mark?" he turns and holds out a careful hand, glad to see Micah already backed off or he might be calling his fangs back, but the other still won't move. Jackson could, conceivably, carry him out, but puts that aside as a last resort. He ducks his head in a fruitless attempt to look into Mark's closed eyes. The other is frightfully pale, biting his lip hard enough Jackson fears for his skin, and trembling intermittently. Even though he dressed up and styled his hair to perfection, Jackson's heart breaks at how small he looks between all these hulking werewolves leering at him. A lump sits in his throat. "Mark? We'll go ho-"</p><p>He can't even finish the sentence before his roommate becomes a blur and disappears into the night. Literally.</p><p>Right. Vampire speed.</p><p>It leaves all the werewolves staring somewhat befuddled at this anti-climactic drama. Before any of them get the bright idea to spice it all up again, Jackson sends a last glare to Aaron and Micah just because that's probably expected of him now, then runs out as well, hiding the rapid pounding of his heart by racing half of the way back to their dorm. He walks the other half with his eyes back to brown, panting into the night and slowly but surely realizing a whole list of mistakes and his part in them, including but not limited to; letting Aaron into their dorm, not fighting Mark on his lame excuse about why he was almost dying, asking the other out to a werewolf party of all things, and, most spectacularly, being <em>dumb enough </em>he actually thought them inviting Mark was for Jackson's benefit instead of some rip-off underground fight-club idea.</p><p>And, to top it all off, this was supposedly a date.</p><p>Jackson took Mark out on a date and almost got him killed, or at least grievously injured.</p><p>At that thought he stands very still, the night air slithering under his collar and numbing his fingers as he swallows past a dry throat and feels very familiar self-loathing bubble up. Getting to their dorm happens in a haze after that epiphany, his feet bringing him into the building and up the quiet stairs until he's standing in front of the door feeling flimsy and much like the consistency of wet paper. There's no guarantee Mark even went back to their dorm, though there aren't many other places he could have gone at this hour, but there's no telling in the mess of emotions that sits in Jackson's chest if he's hoping for Mark to be there, or not. For a full minute he can't bring himself to find out, only stands swallowing saliva with a dry throat like an idiot as he replays everything from the past hour and gradually falls into ... not depression, but whatever it is that people fall into when they realize they've been an unconscious dick to someone they've recently realized means a lot more to them than they initially anticipated.</p><p>Because it was supposed to be a <em>date.</em></p><p>And now Mark will never talk to him again, probably, which is something last month Jackson wouldn't have minded, might have even preferred, but this month's Jackson feels the realization like a physical thing in his chest, pulling on his lungs and playing pin-the-donkey with his heart. He doesn't cry, though that might have more to do with the numb quality of everything that's crashing down on him, but he most certainly calls himself twenty different synonyms for stupid because who the fuck manages to not only fall for a fucking vampire, but also almost kill him on their first date?</p><p>Jackson. That's who. The worst part being that those werewolves he was so desperate to belong with like an abandoned puppy, might have even congratulated him for that if it had truly happened while all Jackson feels is sick to his stomach as he remembers Mark quietly, painfully, accepting his fate in that circle of jeering assholes. Which Jackson could have been a part of had he never gotten to know Mark.</p><p>Okay, <em>now</em> he's crying. "...fuck," he mutters in a wet voice, quickly wiping at his cheeks and slipping inside before someone can see him bawling on his own doorstep.</p><p>First he thinks he's lucky because the living room is dark and quiet, but as he takes off his shoes and glumly shuffles over the wooden floor, Mark's voice has him jumping a foot into the air.</p><p>"Did they hurt you?"</p><p>Jackson swivels his head, heart once more thundering, and finally spots the moving shadow in a corner of the room. It's the corner furthest from the door with the couch conveniently in between them, and that knowledge hurts more than it has any right to. He shoves his hands in his pockets, suddenly glad the lights are still off as he blinks new wetness from his eyes.</p><p>"Not physically," he answers truthfully, managing to keep the tears out of his voice.</p><p>Mark shifts. "Okay," he breathes, almost relieved. "I'm glad."</p><p>"Are you-" Jackson tries at the same time Mark rushes.</p><p>"I'm sorry."</p><p>Jackson snaps his mouth shut, squinting into the dark before he decides to heck with it and brings his eyes back up. With the way Mark startles, he spots the glowing points.</p><p>"No fair," Mark croaks. He ducks his head but not before Jackson spots the evidence of tears in his wet cheeks and red eyes. Mark sniffles quietly and runs a hand over his face, still turned to the side. He sighs, defeated. "Just turn the light on."</p><p>Another block of cement falls into Jackson's stomach at the small voice and he whispers. "You turned it off so I wouldn't see you crying?"</p><p>Mark snorts wetly, glancing over with a deadpan look. "I turned them off because I left you alone, like an asshole, to deal with a pack of adrenaline-high jerks sporting claws. And I'm useless if I see blood so, if you needed help-" he chokes on his words, hiding his eyes behind a shaking hand. "I'm so sorry, Jackson."</p><p>"But- I-" Jackson stutters, wondering if he managed to find a parallel universe in which he <em>didn't</em> bring Mark to his almost-slaughter like a complete, oblivious moron, and turns to the wall behind him to slap on the lights when nothing sensible makes it out. He drops the eyes just as Mark squints into the light himself, the other hurriedly wiping his face some more before finally turning to Jackson again. Mark truly looks defeated, eyes red and hair mussed as his hands pluck nervously at his jeans in liue of his normal oversized sleeves. Jackson's heart quite possibly breaks a little.</p><p>With a hitched breath, Mark starts again, eyes on the floor and voice wavering. "I'm really so-"</p><p>"Yesterday. Was that them?" Jackson interrupts him, voice gravel and thoughts a mess as he tries to piece it all together and shivers at the picture he sees. Mark shrinks a little more.</p><p>"I thought they might leave it alone," Mark whispers. "I thought they wouldn't do anything 'cause they'd already gotten it out of their system." He blinks new tears out of his eyes, gaze shooting up, then down. "I'm sorry I ruined your night. I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry-"</p><p>"Please, stop apologizing," Jackson whispers. His head is empty and floaty, a hand squeezing his stomach until he's sure the internal disgust he's feeling will actually give him organ failure. The tears fall and he brushes them away with an angry hand, then drags in a breath and steadies himself. "Mark," he starts in a loud voice, waiting until the other looks up with painfully insecure eyes, those utterly white teeth gnawing on his bottom lip. Jackson tries for a smile but knows he fails. "If anyone is sorry, it's me. I swear I had no idea they would- but I shouldn't have been so stupid and brought you there and just-" he reels his scrambling thoughts back in with a trembling lower lip, blinking fast as his eyes sting. "I didn't think anyone would <em>ever</em>- I mean, we don't really see eye-to-eye," he gestures between them, even though he immediately knows that's not true, and makes it bigger. "Vampires and werewolves in general don't mix <em>well</em>, but <em>that..."</em> he trails off, queasy once again at what they almost did.</p><p>In the ensuing silence Mark looks conflicted, like he desperately wants to say something but is much too afraid of any reaction. It gives Jackson the sudden urge to <em>need</em> to know.</p><p>"What did they do?" He croaks, already dreading the answers as he examines Mark from head to toe and remembers the parchment skin and sunken eyes. "Yesterday, when you- what did they <em>do?"</em></p><p>
  <em>And why did you follow my stupid idea if you knew it was them?</em>
</p><p>The question goes unsaid, somewhat implied in the desperation of Jackson's look, but he can't quite bring himself to voice it just yet, to acknowledge the clear break between them in such painful detail.</p><p>Mark shrugs, then mumbles something Jackson doesn't catch because he's much too busy being distracted by his own, self-deprecating thoughts. His ears burn as he takes a small step closer, almost touching the couch. "What?"</p><p>Mark sucks his cheeks in, fingers nervously tapping the side of his leg, then he releases a breath and winces at his own words. "They locked me in one of the basement classrooms." His eyes shoot up and Jackson feels like he should understand this, like he's so close, but he doesn't <em>quite</em> get it yet.</p><p>"When?" He breathes, wondering why Mark even went there before coming back to the dorm.</p><p>With another wince Mark mumbles. "Friday. Evening."</p><p>Which is when Jackson lets out a very humorless laugh and digs a finger into his right ear, then shakes his head. "That sounded like they locked you up for the entire weekend," he giggles, bordering on desperate. "Which is <em>stupid</em>, right, because you went home and-"</p><p>Mark winces again, eyes looking at everything but Jackson.</p><p>
  <em>Oh holy shit. The werewolves here are psychopaths.</em>
</p><p>"But, how!" He cries, momentarily forgetting all the former tension in the face of this much hidden sadism and plain cruelty which <em>no one </em>bothered to warn him of, and closes the distance with three large steps, grabbing Mark's shocked shoulders and shaking like it'll shake the sense back into him. "Why didn't you call someone!" he admonishes, glaring while Mark steadily avoids his gaze. "Hell, why didn't you break down the door or bust through a window!"</p><p>"Didn't have windows," Mark interjects a little petulantly.</p><p>"Mark!" Jackson yells, pushing him against the wall as if keeping him safe now will undo all the past horrors. Mark flinches. He shrinks in on himself and Jackson is <em>dumb</em> because he finally gets it, truly, <em>utterly </em>gets what it was that they did.</p><p>He stares in muted horror as the pieces fall in his head. "The blood," he says in a controlled voice. "That's why Aaron came here to take it, because they put you in there and knew that that's what you'd need to-"</p><p>
  <em>to live.</em>
</p><p>"I don't think they knew," Mark comments, watching Jackson with caution. "About the ... <em>dying</em> bit. They probably just wanted to-"</p><p>"Don't," Jackson growls, honestly <em>growls</em>, to the complete shock of Mark if his expression is any indication. In all fairness, having a werewolf growl in your face while he's also caging you in is probably a bit much for any vampire to take. Though, Jackson notes belatedly, Mark doesn't look <em>opposed </em>to their position. If anything, his ears are turning red, eyes finally fully focused on Jackson with that same intensity he's much too fond of and makes Jackson's heart do things it probably shouldn't.</p><p>Like flutter like a hummingbird's wings when they're in the middle of a Serious Moment. Still.</p><p>Jackson gulps as he finally realizes their proximity. He's angry but also fascinated and the fact his wolf is getting involved only complicates things because now he's both thinking about ripping Aaron's limbs off his body and the fact Mark's lower lashes are just as long as his upper ones which is not something you see every day. The combination is a little dizzying.</p><p>"Jackson?" Mark's voice is airy, his eyes still open and large and something Jackson might get drunk off of if this continues. Mark's breath hitting his face is the only reason he realizes he's leaning closer. Mark audibly gulps. "Jackson, I think you're about to kiss me and I really need to know if you're mad at me before we do that." He gulps again. "Not that I don't want to. Do that." His eyes are big and impossibly dark and entirely too close for Jackson to think comprehensively, but he does know one thing.</p><p>"Can we kiss now and do everything else later?" He rumbles in a low tone, heart slamming into his ribs and a rush of whatever his brain concocts to deal with this flooding his system. "And no," he whispers, now close enough he can taste Mark's breaths. "I'm not even remotely mad at you."</p><p>Mark closes the distance in that way of his Jackson cannot possibly follow. One hand is suddenly in his hair, leaving tingling trails down his scalp as their lips battle for dominance and Jackson slams into Mark. For a guy who has no problem folding himself into a tiny square, Jackson is pleasantly surprised by how much he's being pushed back.</p><p>In fact.</p><p>One moment he's pushing Mark into a wall, the next his head swirls and he's dumped on their somewhat lumpy couch, Mark grinning at him with deliciously kissed lips.</p><p>Mark blurs and the lights go out, a pair of thighs straddling Jackson before he can full well get his head comfortably resting on the armrest. Mark hands land on his chest, warm and strong as he leans over Jackson. "Do the eyes," he whispers.</p><p>If anyone had told Jackson he'd be aroused by those exact words coming from Mark just a few weeks ago, he would have probably laughed in their faces and had a mental breakdown afterwards about the validity of their claim. He immediately turns them on, blinking into the stunning face of Mark panting above him, the other's eyes focusing on his in an instant and a very sharp grin taking over. "Fuck, that's hot," Mark breathes.</p><p>Jackson grins, dizzy with the way Mark is looking at him like he's prey, like he's truly the vampire about to demolish Jackson completely. In this one particular setting, Jackson has absolutely zero qualms with that. "You should see yourself," he answers, the growl still in his voice.</p><p>Mark's smirk deepens.</p><p>Which is when Jackson knows, without a single doubt, that his college experience is blessed, because his roommate's the worst vampire in existence, but makes up for it by being the best boyfriend ever.</p><p> </p><p>x</p><p> </p><p>Epilogue</p><p> </p><p>x</p><p> </p><p>"Hey Jackson?" Mark opens his door without knocking like every other time since they <em>figured things out.</em> At this point, Jackson has stopped chastising him about it.</p><p>He makes a noncommittal noise, currently buried deep in an article they have to read for class tomorrow, lounging on his bed with the laptop in his lap. He sees Mark in the corner of his eyes, hanging onto the doorpost and the door still in hand, a thoughtful expression on his face.</p><p>"Did you-?" Mark stops, then starts again. "Did you talk to Aaron and Micah and their pack? About- about <em>me?" </em></p><p>The wicked grin that steals over Jackson's face is completely involuntary though he tries to pull his face into a neutral expression as he turns away from his laptop and focuses on Mark. From the frown on his boyfriend's face, the other saw.</p><p>Mark sighs, crossing his arms and leaning his weight on one leg with a knowing look. "Jackson, what did you do?"</p><p>"Nothing," he grins. "Why? Did they say something?"</p><p>Mark gives him the stink-eye, clearly not believing a word he's saying. Not that Jackson expects him to. "They <em>apologized</em>," Mark draws out the word like it's the eight wonder of the world, then pins Jackson down with a hard stare. "Why would they do that, Jackson?"</p><p>Jackson shrugs, mentally reliving the joy of hunting with his little brother just yesterday. It's been a while since Jackson's gone full wolf. The brilliant thing about it is that no one suspects it's him, though possibly suspect isn't the right word. Aaron certainly suspects it's him, but knows not a single soul (apart from Jackson's mother) will believe him when he says an eighteen-year-old werewolf <em>in full wolf form</em> dragged his naked ass out of his bed in the middle of the night and threatened to bite his throat out while a teen with a sadistic smirk laid out terms of staying away from a certain vampire with an almost bored tone.</p><p>Death-threats work, okay.</p><p>Mark isn't having his silence, pouting with stunning accuracy as he whines. "Jacks! What did you do?!" It's a complete contrast to the fierce ripping of clothes just a few nights ago. The dichotomy honestly attracts Jackson even more.</p><p>He huffs out a breath, smiling at Mark with what he knows is something close to predatory. "Just reminded him of something."</p><p>Mark cocks an eyebrow, clearly waiting for more.</p><p>"Werewolves are protective," Jackson explains, eyes going back to his laptop. After a moment the bed dips and he looks up to see Mark smiling at him.</p><p>"So, you'll fight all my battles for me?" He asks sweetly, blinking his eyes innocently with that wide-ass grin.</p><p>"Nah," Jackson decides, already closing his laptop as he winks at Mark. "Not until I get a few, funny, fainting-stories to tell the grandkids."</p><p>Mark tackles him into the bed, affronted yell quickly dissolving into laughter as Jackson attacks his sides with tickles.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>So yeah. That college experience everyone's always raving about? 10/10 would recommend.</p><p>Or maybe just find yourself a vampire who's afraid of spiders. That works too.</p><p> </p>
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